


The Meek Inherit the Earth

by PenguinxHero



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Crime, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinxHero/pseuds/PenguinxHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt was no hero, and he wasn't inclined to start trying to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meek Inherit the Earth

**~The Meek Inherit the Earth~**

Matt was tired.

There was no other word for this bone-deep weariness that made him feel like he was wading through quicksand. It was getting increasingly difficult to complete the simplest tasks, which was endlessly frustrating because he was all too aware that with each passing day, he should be doing _more_. Mello needed it of him.

Useless – that’s what he was.

He had always known that he was not cut from the same cloth as Mello and Near. There was something hard and indestructible in the two of them, something the world would do its best to tarnish but never quite succeed in doing so. The indisputable truth that he was not like them had been the main reason that he had told Roger that he did not want to be in the running to be L’s successor not even a year after coming to the orphanage.

Matt was no hero, and he wasn’t inclined to start trying to be.

Sure – he’d looked up to L just like everyone else had when he had first come to Wammy’s. But that was just the letter on the screen and the electronically altered voice; it was the sense that L was out in the world, doing things that Matt could never rightly attribute to him, but would feel the effects of all the same. L was distant, yet near – almost omnipresent. At that time, at an age where Matt still dreamed about superheroes, L held all the allure of a god.

That is, until Matt had met him in person.

The meeting had been entirely by chance; Matt had been going down to the kitchen late at night to get a glass of water when he had run into a dark-haired teen with a pronounced slouch in the hallway. Nothing much had been said, really, before the mystery person had to go on their way – but somehow, Matt had known. And it was funny how knowing made all of those dreams evaporate to nothing, leaving Matt with the terrifying sense that it was about time to grow up.

So, L was just a person. Matt was just a person, too, and never wanted to be anything more. But Mello and Near… Mello would always want to be more, while Near just couldn’t help it.

Spineless – Matt knew he was that, too.

Growing up with Mello at Wammy’s, Matt had been content to think that nothing would ever happen to L ( _but he’s just a person_ ), and he and Mello would be together forever. Of course, something did happen; a very big, unfortunate thing that set all of their lives tumbling down one after another like the dominoes that Near played with – but Matt had no way of knowing that back then. But before that… Yes – before that, Matt imagined them living together after they were too old to stay at the orphanage anymore. They would spend their days playing video games, eating chocolate, and staying up late whenever they wanted because Roger wouldn’t be there to tell them not to. Maybe Mello would even let him have a dog.

(Matt had had a dog once, long ago in the time before the orphanage and Mello, back in the time that he never allowed himself to remember.)

And then, the big, bad, terrible thing happened, and Mello had left. None of his plans meant anything after that. They had evaporated – poof.

Whatever, he had told himself, life goes on.

And it did. Being left behind hurt like crazy, and he missed Mello terribly, but he kept on going. He knew that if he ever wanted to see Mello again, he had to be strong. So, he put his head down to the books, paid attention in class, and for the first time in his life – actually _tried_. He knew his purpose at that time; learn as much as he could so that he could help Mello. It was hard at times, like when he would think of something funny and turn to tell Mello out of reflex only to see that he wasn’t there, but it was manageable. He imagined it was like when amputees feel phantom pains in their missing limb or how a twin feels incomplete when the other twin dies. The only difference was Matt knew where Mello was and how to get back to him again; it would just take time.

With considerably less fanfare than the other two, Matt had eventually left the orphanage.

Hopeless… He’d never been that.

There had been that one time when Matt had thought he had seen Mello on the subway platform a few months after coming to the United States – or more specifically, New York. It had only been for a few moments, a glance of blond hair and cold eyes amidst the crowd, but it was just another one of those things that he _knew_. Then, Mello had disappeared into the crowd ( _evaporating like dew on a hot window pane, an apparition going up in smoke_ ), and Matt had been left with a treacherous feeling of doubt. He entirely discounted the experience a few days later when he caught whispers in the darkest corners of the internet of a transaction to acquire a missile which was currently on its way to an undisclosed location in the Mojave Desert outside of Los Angeles. Matt was grateful to whoever the idiot was that had decided to blab, because if said idiot hadn’t explicitly named Mello as one of the parties involved in the transaction, Matt would have been hopelessly wandering the streets of New York City for who knows how many months longer, chasing ghosts.

(Little did he know, it _had_ been Mello on the subway platform – but like magnets with the same poles pointed to one another, they could only approach but never meet. For that to happen, another one of those life-altering events would have to occur.)

Of course, even when Matt came to LA, and Mello knew he was in LA, and they both were entirely aware of the other’s proximity – absolutely nothing happened. That is, until Mello had gone and got himself blown up.

It seemed like the perfect excuse to call.

“Matt, I need you to come get me. I blew up the base. Everyone’s dead, and I can’t feel the left side of my body,” Mello had said calmly, just like that. Shock had obviously not set in yet.

“Oh,” Matt had replied. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Then, “How did you even get my number?” But Mello had already hung up.

There was never any question of whether or not Matt would go to get him – another one of those indisputable truths.

Which leads to the situation he is in now.

Matt had never believed in God. He would watch Mello pray the rosary late at night when they shared a room as children, Matt himself praying to some non-entity that Mello wouldn’t raise his head and catch him in the act. He had even tried praying for real once or twice himself; it hadn’t amounted to anything.

Well, after seeing the gruesome state of Mello’s body after the explosion (the angry, red burns and the horrible stench of burning flesh), Matt started to believe. He had to; there was no other way to keep himself sane.

There were the times when Mello would break out in a fever during the night, deliriously muttering about how he was going to,”… _kill that motherfucker with my own bare hands!”_ And Matt would try to appease him as best as he could, placing damp cloths on his forehead and taking away the ones that had already dried up. One time, Mello had reached out with alarming speed when he had come close, grabbing him by the throat. A scuffle had ensued as Matt had tried to get him to let go, but Mello was fighting him fiercely, and Matt was terrified that his bandages would break open. Eventually, Mello had tired himself out and let go, falling into a fitful sleep.

Those times weren’t what terrified Matt the most, though. It was the night when he woke up from a dream where someone was calling his name over and over ( _knowing something was not right_ ), but his room was entirely silent. But then he opened the door, and Mello was sitting on the floor in the fetal position on the other side of the hallway, just staring into the darkness. Matt had tried to act like everything was normal, like Mello really wasn’t freaking him the fuck out, as he’d sat down next to him.

“I’m going to die,” were the first words out of Mello’s mouth.

Matt tried to placate him – and himself, too. “No, you’re not. You’ve just started your antibiotics; they’re going to start working soon.” Then, quieter, in a whisper: “Besides, I won’t let you.”

“If not now, then soon; I know that now.”

“Mells, you’re just not feeling well right now. Go back to sleep and things will feel different in the morning.” Matt was desperately wishing that this would prove true.

All the same, Mello had listened. He allowed Matt to help him up and support him as he made his way back to his bed. After he was under the covers, Matt had turned to leave. Then, he’d suddenly felt Mello’s hand on his arm and he flinched, remembering the time where Mello had attempted to choke him. But when he turned back, Mello’s eyes were clear and free of fever; they were impelling him.

“Stay.”

And Matt did. It didn’t take long for Mello’s breathing to even out and for sleep to take him, and then Matt was left with his own thoughts as he lay on the other side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. That night he’d had his first serious conversation with God. His terms were simple; if a life had to be taken, then it could be his – not Mello’s. He was just a person, after all, while he _knew_ that Mello was destined for something greater.

Silence was the only response, but Matt felt sure that he had been heard that time.

Mello did get a lot better after that. It got to the point that he could eat most things without vomiting and could walk to the bathroom on his own without needing to lean on Matt. His eyes regained their sharp alertness that Matt was accustomed to, and they could have conversations about things other than the colour of the pus staining Mello’s bandages (“ _It looks better today. I think the infection’s going away._ ”). Funny how small talk can seem like such a luxury.

Now that Mello was feeling better, Matt didn’t feel so bad about leaving the apartment. Of course, he had to get groceries and do the laundry, but sometimes he would walk down to the park across the street from their building, too. He’d have a cigarette while sitting on a bench (he didn’t dare smoke in the apartment what with how sensitive the scent of smoke made Mello right now), and he would do absolutely nothing for a while.

On one of these occasions, someone sat down next to him. This had happened before of course (it wasn’t like he owned the bench) – but no-one had ever tried to strike up a conversation until now.

“Are you homeless?”

Matt contemplated the question, exhaling a big cloud of smoke. He looked over at the intruder to his private time, a little girl of the age of seven. Her hair was in two lopsided braids, and her green eyes looked impossibly big.

“Sort of,” he said.

The girl giggled. “How can you be sort of homeless?”

“When the place you live in doesn’t feel like a home.”

Matt didn’t even know why he was talking to her. He used to think that he really didn’t like people, but that was when he’d been surrounded on all sides by loud, screaming children all day. During the time when he’d been entirely on his own, he’d been too absorbed in searching for Mello to even care about social contact. Then, Mello had been there, but had been in no state to talk.

Maybe he was a little lonely.

The girl contemplated what he’d said, her face scrunched up in thought. Matt took another drag of his cigarette during the lull. Then, with great gravity, she decided: “You’re weird.”

Matt did not contest. She giggled again.

“Why do you look so sad, huh?” she asked, leaning in to look at his eyes through his goggle lenses.

Matt fought the urge to blow smoke in her face; that wouldn’t be nice. (Although, in days past, Mello would have urged him to do it.) Instead, he turned his head and exhaled.

“My friend’s sick.”

“I don’t like being sick,” the girl said. “My mom never lets me go out to play when I’m sick, and she makes me take icky medicine.”

“Yeah, well, he’s stuck inside and can’t come out either. The medicine he’s been taking is probably nastier than anything you’ve ever tasted, too.”

Frowning, the girl looked down at her lap. Suddenly, she jumped up and started running over to a group of women talking to each other on the other side of the park. She grabbed something out of one of the women’s purses before running back to where Matt was sitting. Matt saw the women watching the girl in surprise, before one of the women’s expressions turned to horror and she started to run after her.

“Here!” the girl said, holding what appeared to be a box of orange juice out to him. “My mom _always_ makes me drink this when I’m sick.”

“Madeline!” The woman caught up to her just then, and wrapped her arms around her protectively, jerking her away from Matt. “You sick freak!” she spat at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Matt continued on smoking his cigarette, unconcerned.

“But mom!” the girl, Madeline, whined. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I thought he looked sad, so I went over to talk to him. He said that his friend was sick. I was gonna give him orange juice to give to his friend, mom, just like how you give it to me when I’m sick!”

“Regardless, you do not talk to strangers!”

Madeline opened her mouth to retort, but Matt cut her off.

“Listen to your mom, kid. There are bad people out there.”

_Yeah_ , he thought, _like my friend, the Mafia boss. Maybe even me, too._

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly! Everyone knows that Kira’s killing all the bad people so that we don’t have to worry about them anymore!”

Her mother shook her head. “I hope your friend feels better,” she muttered, an afterthought, before herding the girl back over to their safe little circle.

Matt stubbed out his cigarette sometime later, and got up to leave. He decided that he wouldn’t come back to the park again; there was too much disruption here. On the way back home, he purchased a box of lasagna that he could throw in the oven and some chocolate bars that Mello could eat when he was feeling up to it. For the first time, he noticed the graffiti on the side of their building proclaiming in huge block letters: _Kira is watching_.

He went inside and upstairs to where Mello and their fate were waiting. He found his friend tearing through the boxes in his closet, computer wires and CDs lying in disarray all around him.

Mello whipped around when he came in and asked him in rapid speech, “Do you still have that picture of me? You know, the one with ‘Dear Mello’ written on the back?”

“I don’t know. I think I left it at the orphanage… but I’ll look.”

He got down on his hands and knees beside him and joined in the tedious (and fruitless) search.

Matt was no hero – but that wouldn’t stop him from doing whatever he could.


End file.
